


With Optimism. With Hope.

by Anonymous



Category: Political RPF, Political RPF - Canadian 21st c., Political RPF - France 21st c.
Genre: ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°), Desperation, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Misuse of Speeches, Secret Relationship, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, official meetings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:41:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23879332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: After being separated for months, they manage to meet again during an international event. Alone. For a precious hour.
Relationships: Emmanuel Macron/Justin Trudeau
Comments: 18
Kudos: 28
Collections: Anonymous





	With Optimism. With Hope.

**Author's Note:**

> Just to avoid any possible confusion: this work is fictional, quite obviously. It's non-profit, too.  
> If that ship isn't your cup of tea (which is fine) I am fairly certain that there's something more to your liking among the other 5 million works AO3 currently hosts. I'm sure your browser has a return button just like mine. That's cool, too.
> 
> Everyone else: happy reading.
> 
> I entirely blame this on watching/reading the news way too often and reading too many political speeches during the Covid-19 lockdown. And yes, at least one speech is used in this story.

_“Nothing great in the world was accomplished without passion.”_  
_Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel_

* * *

**Munich Security Conference, February 14 th, 2020**

Their eyes meet across the distance for just a split second before Emmanuel turns around and leaves the conference hall. The afternoon’s panel discussion of the first day is over, finally.

Finally, for Justin’s speech right at the beginning of the session had been quite a distraction for Emmanuel. His eyes had been fixed either on Justin’s face or on his socks, dark grey with red and pink hearts and every once in awhile, Justin’s gaze had locked with his for the briefest of moments. The rest of the afternoon had been pure agony.

Justin is at his side in a flash, his piercing glance levied right at him.

It doesn’t cause Emmanuel to break the rhythm of his steps at all and a small incline of his head is all acknowledgment Justin receives for now. For everything else, there are too many people present around them in the corridor – leaders, delegates, press representatives, staff, or so Emmanuel tells himself.

It’s only half of the truth.

Most of all, Emmanuel doesn’t trust his voice. Not now, after having watched Justin for a solid hour, whenever he had been certain enough nobody else had been watching him in return.

A curt incline of heads instead of an actual greeting is nothing out of the ordinary, nothing that will cause suspicion of any sort for they’ve already greeted each other officially in the morning – with wide gestures and warm smiles, and countless cameras documenting the moment.

Regardless of how he feels, he dares a glance at Justin from the corner of his eyes. Justin looks marvelous in his grey suit and midnight blue tie, with his hair being slightly longer than usual, which causes it to fall into his eyes more often than not. He quite like that.

Condemned to silence, Emmanuel can’t help but recall their first meetings almost three years ago whilst they stride along the corridor side by side. 

In contrast to Emmanuel’s first meeting with Donald Trump at the _2017 Brussels Summit of the NATO_ , meeting Canada’s PM for the first time on the same day had not been awkward at all. Often enough, these first meetings are strange: it’s either a pissing contest in front of cameras to mark territorial borders or with little else to say except useless small talk.

With Trump, it had been both.

It had been cringeworthy, actually, the handshake most of all. Emmanuel is convinced it had happened because he had greeted Angela Merkel first before Trump. Trump, in all his entitlement, had assumed he was the most important person standing on the red carpet. It had left Trump looking awkward, with his hands hovering over his pockets, and with that handshake, he had wanted to get back at him. Body language – or rather the lack to control it is delightfully treacherous.

The meeting with Justin hadn't been awkward; it hadn't been strange. No matter how brief, back in the plane, Emmanuel had still been thinking about it. The adoration had been mutual. He had felt it in Justin’s gaze; had heard it in the shifting cadence of his voice; had observed it in his smile. The awkwardness of an entirely different sort between them had come days later.

The commitment to take climate change seriously is one of many topics that unite them and since the reaffirmation of the Paris accord had been one major goal of the _2017 G7 Summit in Taormina_ Emmanuel’s advisers had insisted to schedule an official meeting between them at the venue.

Although much of that setting under the Sicilian sun amidst blossoming Bougainville had been perfectly choreographed for publicity, the smiles and glances, the laughter and accidental touches had come naturally, to an extent that the press went riot.

The photos of that meeting had spread like wildfire across all social media; they have found its way into each and every newspaper. Some had captions along the line that it is more likely that they’d be holding hands in public than Donald and Melania Trump.

Well, _#handgate_ had been trending after Melania had refused to hold her husband’s hand during their visit to Israel only a few days before the G7 Summit, where the press photos of Justin and Emmanuel had been taken (those, which Emmanuel still has on each and every one of his phones, accompanied by those of Justin – or them together, which he took himself before and after the evening concert of the Milan based Teatro Alla Scala orchestra).

The rest is history.

They’ve come a long way from the initial awkwardness that had followed the last day of the event, Emmanuel reflects, glancing at Justin yet again; from looking everywhere but at the other in private; afraid to treat on the unfamiliar territory of emotions that none of them had ever expected, mapping out the terrain.

The ghost of a smile must have hushed across Emmanuel’s face upon the memories as Justin casually remarks, “Stop musing.”

Before Emmanuel gets the chance to respond – or even think about a reply, one of his close staff falls into steps with them.

“Hm?” he asks, tilting his head towards her.

“Heiko Maas has asked if your schedule allows for a brief meeting. Half an hour, not more.”

She knows his schedule far better than him. It’s a polite way of asking if he’d be okay that a meeting is arranged. “Yes, of course,” he says, nodding. “At best tomorrow. After lunch, if possible.”

“I’ll take care of it,” she says, withdrawing.

So it goes several times – not that he’s not used to it. They both are. Regardless, Emmanuel’s thoughts are somewhere else. He feels as if he’s a rat who’s led through the maze by the luring scent of a treat. Excitement flares as it’s not far from the truth – a treat certainly awaits him. It makes him smile again.

“Are you in a hurry?” Justin asks, quite oblivious.

Rooms line the crimson-floored corridor of the hotel on either side and Emmanuel allows his mind the liberty to fantasize of half dragging, half pulling Justin inside the next best room after the interruptions have ceased. Again, for he had already done so whilst listening to Justin’s speech during the panel discussion until the collar of his shirt had become too tight. Despite the obvious distraction Justin always is, Emmanuel had managed to memorize the most important parts of the speech; he had even managed to take some notes.

“Obviously,” Emmanuel states, well aware of the change of his voice, giving Justin a side-way glance. “Given the agenda we’ve set up for today’s meeting, an hour appears to be quite short.”

“Oh definitely,” Justin affirms with a nod, in a way that makes a strand of his hair fall in front of his eyes. Not that they’ll be discussing anything of the agenda at all. They’ve done so days ago as part of a video conference for these rare moments when they are together and alone are precious to them in a way nobody must ever know.

Once around the corner, Emmanuel finally slows down his strides, walking on with far more measured steps.

Justin draws his large hand through his dark, tumbling hair, making certain that Emmanuel notices it.

 _Damn._ Justin doing that is doing something to Emmanuel, and he can’t resist the temptation to casually touch Justin’s arm as he loves doing it, especially when they’re not alone. Justin loves and hates it at the same time. He remembers well how much Justin has struggled to conceal his expression the first time he had done it; remembers how he had done it during the _G7 Summit in Canada 2018_ – this time far longer than he usually dared to. The video of it had received quite the attention.

“You are musing yet again, Manu,” Justin laughs, in that quite disarming way so typical for him. “Differently now, though.”

Emmanuel ignores the remark for now, although he’s shivering at the sound of Justin calling him like that. “With France and 33 other countries… Out of the 34 countries you had to pick mine as an example, no?” (a)

Justin shrugs. “Yes? You did not seem irritated back then,” he says, then lowers his voice distinctly with a smile that sends Emmanuel’s heart racing. “Seriously though: how should I have refrained from sneaking in such an innocent remark on Valentine’s Day?”

The door to the small conference room reserved for them stands open, next to it a whiteboard with today’s meeting schedule attached to it. Not that Emmanuel cares about it; the only thing that’s on his mind is that the room is theirs for an hour. He takes a look at his watch: 5:05 pm – perfectly on time.

“No disturbance for the next hour, please,” Emmanuel tells the security and dismisses them with a nod for their presence isn’t needed inside. By now they are well used to it, not that the venue needs precautions like this. The hotel itself and the surrounding areas, right in the heart of the city, are guarded better than Fort Knox. After the protests during the G20 Summit in Hamburg three years ago, the security measures had been enhanced further.

“Hence the socks,” Emmanuel states. He’s never been one for Valentine’s Day; indeed hadn’t even been aware of the fact that it is today until Justin mentioned it.

Closing the door behind them, Justin smirks. “A most decent excuse to show my admiration for someone special in public, yes,” he says, eyes alight with mischief now. “I’m certain it had some … effects.”

It had; still has. 

Even with the echo of the door falling shut, Emmanuel can hear the thundering beat of his heart. The blue curtains of the room are already drawn from previous meetings, for which he’s glad. Although he’s tempted to grab Justin by the collar just then, he refrains, knowing that Justin is expecting him to do exactly this.

Emmanuel squares his shoulders a little further and walks towards the table standing in the middle of the room, deliberately slow. He doesn’t see Justin’s face but feels his eyes burn on his back: he can even see Justin’s confused expression before his inner eye.

Then, he stops abruptly, turning to face Justin across the distance. “Stop reading my thoughts. Today, always.”

For a second, Justin looks dumbstruck, then laughs. “I will – if you stop touching me, casually. Deal?”

Emmanuel’s mouth tightens in irritation for the blink of an eye, barely long enough for Justin to notice but notice he does regardless. His quirked eyebrows tell as much.

“If I remember correctly,” Emmanuel muses, flashing Justin a smile. “Last time when we were together you complained that I was not touching you enough?”

Justin’s groan is one of frustration; of tease, and Emmanuel has always been weak to fall for it. Justin knows it well and takes advantage of it whenever possible. “It’s hardly comparably, don’t you think?”

Internalized patterns are created to be disrupted. “No?” Emmanuel asks, grinning for it’s not what Justin wants to hear.

Justin groans again, and at last, Emmanuel takes pity and bridges the distance between them.

“Yes?” Justin asks, gaze sweeping across Emmanuel’s face.

“Yes, what?” Emmanuel teases, glancing upwards at Justin’s face.

Although Emmanuel doesn’t believe in coincidences, Justin standing close to the wall is most fortunate. Without caring to explain himself, he takes a step forward to invade Justin’s personal space and walks him up against the wall with little to no resistance.

It’s not what Justin has expected.

 _Fuck._ Justin doesn’t say it. Doesn’t need to say it. His irritation and momentary distraction are spread all across his face, and it’s an open invitation to take advantage of.

Emmanuel inhales sharply, nudging a knee between Justin’s thighs before he brings his arms on either side of Justin’s body, pressing his palms flat against the wall. Justin is caged, looking at him with that thrilling mix of bewilderment and approval. He takes the time to study Justin’s face, even though impatience reigns his mind and body, but he’s always been strong of will.

In his fantasies, he had pinned Justin’s hands well above his head with an iron grip, but in reality, he decides against it for it’ll hinder his movements.

“Manu, what are you doing?” Justin asks, his back hitting the wall.

Emmanuel lets a smile of triumph flash, then grips Justin’s chin in one hand turning his face just a little. “Establishing old power structures,” he states, which earns him a puzzled look from Justin. (b)

Then, Emmanuel sees Justin’s face transform and as understanding settles, Justin rolls his eyes at him. “Now, it was truly necessary to quote parts of my speech?”

Emmanuel shrugs. “Yes?” he whispers, letting go of Justin’s chin. His hand dips to Justin’s throat instead, fingers tracing along the line where shirt meets skin, warm to his touch.

Justin gives him the _‘what the hell is wrong with you, Manu?’_ stare that never fails to amuse Emmanuel, then shakes his head. “You are incorrigible”

Emmanuel’s free hand wraps around Justin’s tie, pulling him close until their lips are almost touching. “You like me like this,” he says with a grin, dropping his voice. “Can you even imagine what these words did to me, condemned to just sit and watch?”

Feeling Justin freeze in surprise has never failed to spark desire, today more than ever, and his strength of will falters when Justin grinds his lower half against him. “No?”

Two can easily play at this game, and Emmanuel’s learned long ago that Justin is equally fond of playing.

He lets go of Justin’s tie, grabbing him by the waist to press them flush together before he closes his lips over Justin’s. There’s nothing tentative about the kiss, nothing gentle; how should there be, after months spent without each other? Justin is whimpering against Emmanuel’s mouth, clawing at his shoulders in his urge in the same way Emmanuel clings to Justin’s waist. It’s too much at once yet at the same time it’s not enough, never will be enough.

“Still complaining that I should stop touching you?” he asks without needing to. When they are like this, Justin is an open book to read, and so utterly predictable. He’s blushing a bright red, which almost glows on his pale skin in the artificial light of the room.

“Casually, I said. Damn you, there’s a difference in that.” There’s a needy edge to Justin’s voice, close to desperation.

Emmanuel has always been obsessed with Justin’s voice, especially when he’s speaking French, to an extent that he’s downloaded Justin’s speech at the French National Assembly to his phone.

He’s horny, has been aroused for days, resisting the urge to find release alone; he’s deprived of sleep, too, and emotionally on the very edge – and knowing that Justin feels exactly the same only adds to his excitement. They’ve agreed not to touch themselves for at least five days, and he had adhered to the rules; he always does.

The moment of silence is brief; precious moments in which Emmanuel allows Justin to watch his smile transform. It’s outright suggestive now. “I love it when you are angry; when _I_ make you angry. It’s like lighting a fire.”

The light is too glaring to be romantic and yet Emmanuel can’t care less. He leans in, lips now pressing just above the line of Justin’s shirt from where they mouth along Justin’s neck, licking until Justin’s head dips back against the wall. In response, his hands move into Justin’s hair and he lets his fingers run through it, losing himself in the sensation of the touch.

It’s tempting to leave a bruise; a mark, just there, right above the collar of his shirt. It always is and yet he knows it’s entirely out of the question.

The reaction of Justin’s body to Emmanuel’s lips against his neck is entirely Pavlovian. First, he claws at Emmanuel’s shoulders against the impatience of his desire, then he swears, just as he always does. “ _Fuck_.”

Emmanuel laughs in admonishment that is entirely fake. “It’s hardly the right time now, don’t you think?”

The question is outright rhetorical; he knows the answer to it, as does Justin. There’s no right time for anything they do – most often, there’s no time at all to be alone at all, not even for something like this. Even now, a phone buzzes in someone’s pocket.

Their world is one of stolen glances; of small touches whenever one of them feels daring enough; a world of unspoken promises and too many things left unsaid. Seldom do they let rustling clothes speak for them but if they do, the bitter sound of hastiness clings to it. Incomplete undressing is followed by a few minutes of labored breathing and the sound of skin meeting skin yet they are content to have these moments at all.

Justin’s blinks to collect his thoughts, considering, or so at least it seems to Emmanuel.

“Shut up…,” Justin mumbles, and for a second, Emmanuel is not certain if Justin means him or the buzzing phone, its endless vibration horribly annoying. “I … You – ” he adds, and even as he says it, his voice forsakes him.

_I. You._

_Us,_ Emmanuel thinks, letting his eyes fall shut the moment Justin’s lips close over his, being unable to say anything at all.

When Emmanuel opens his eyes again, fire blazes in Justin’s eyes, in a way he doubts he’s ever seen before, speeding up his heartbeat and breath. He lets his fingers trail along Justin’s face until he’s cupping his cheeks, feeling the heat of Justin’s skin, the softness of his hair. It’s like he can feel Justin tensing and relaxing all at once, and is rewarded with another kiss, even fiercer than before. Justin captures his face in both hands, the touch eager and full of desire, lips parted and damp.

By the time Justin is done kissing him, Emmanuel is trembling. Reaching between them, down towards Justin’s pants isn’t a conscious decision, unbuckling his belt isn’t exactly either. It takes some effort to open it single-handed, pressed flushed together but somehow he manages, even manages to jerk Justin’s undershirt upwards.

He’s answered with a ragged noise, a gasp catching in his throat as Justin's hand cards through his hair and he begins to roll his hips into Emmanuel’s hand. There’s no time for slow explorations, and Emmanuel’s not even certain he’d be in the mood for it for his own touches speak of desperation and urgency.

_Fuck._

He, they should find the courage to stop this madness, but that requires one thing – that they care; he doesn’t, can’t, because it’s simply impossible to form a coherent thought when Justin’s head rests on his shoulder, whilst he’s thrusting wildly into his hand. And judging from all of it, he’s quite certain that Justin doesn’t care either.

One of Justin’s hand dips down to the small of Emmanuel’s back, then immediately below the waistband. When fingers touch bare skin there, gripping in desperation, Emmanuel feels his own cheeks flush. The sound of his heartbeat is suddenly too loud in his ears; the collar of his shirt way too tight. Emmanuel reaches up with his free hand, struggling to lose his tie without letting the rhythm falter, struggling to open the first button of his shirt immediately after.

“Manu,” Justin whimpers, to which Emmanuel doesn’t respond vocally but increases the speed of the movement of his hand, which makes Justin babble away all the more. Justin is always talkative – with everyone; but being with him like this is a different level entirely, something that had taken Emmanuel some time to get used to for none of the words are coherent at all. In the wake of opening his shirt, Justin catches Emmanuel’s wrist, bringing his hand towards his mouth, tongue darting out to brush against the fingertips. Emmanuel’s eyes grow wide, all the more as Justin sucks one digit into his mouth, then another. It's as innocent as it is erotic.

“I like it when you are like this; for me – because of me,” Emmanuel whispers against Justin’s ear, quite patronizing. Not that Justin would notice; he’s long past caring. He is aching, struggling and squirming impatiently to find the perfect friction and yet hold back at the same time, each struggle accompanied by a moan, needy and hot, sounding so incredibly filthy in Emmanuel’s ears. It’s nearly impossible to hold back, for either of them.

Justin’s panting something, letting go of the finger in his mouth. Emmanuel doesn’t hear, the words being only a meaningless whisper in the winds of lust.

_“Gentlemen?”_

They freeze for a second, then pretend not to have heard anything at all for it simply can’t be that an hour has passed already. They’ve pushed the boundaries of the protocol in regard to being late a few times, much to Emmanuel’s dismay as he actually doesn’t approve of being late.

“I’m close,” Justin groans against Emmanuel’s shoulder, having buried his face there to muffle his gasps. “We can’t…”

“I know…” Emmanuel sighs, caressing Justin’s neck with his free hand.

“Gentlemen!” It calls again, followed by an impertinent knock this time.

A desperate whine, perhaps a little too loud, bleeds from Justin’s lips before he lifts his head from Emmanuel’s shoulder, looking Emmanuel right into the eyes.

He’s dimly aware of the fact that they’ve been called for the second time already, hesitating way too long when he finally clears his throat. “In a second.”

Then his attention is immediately back at Justin. He looks wrecked, devastated, with his cheeks flushed a bright red.

_Devastated._

There’s no other word for how Justin looks, and he’s certain he doesn’t look much different.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, cupping Justin’s cheeks to kiss him again, quite differently now. Softer, as if to apologize for the disturbance. “We must go.”

Justin’s voice is forsaking him. “Yes.”

“Fuck. I don’t want to,” Usually, Emmanuel’s not one for swearing, avoiding such coarse language, but this time, he has to for it seems as if they’ve gone too far.

Justin nods his agreement, smoothing down his shirt and jacket, then tries to fix his hair. It’s a mess, just as his tie is, which Emmanuel tries to fix as best as he can.

“Fuck,” Emmanuel swears again, still fiddling with the tie.

“Stop it,” Justin says, voice still hoarse, breathless. “… _‘I hope we can continue this fruitful discussion somewhat later’_ is what people usually say after having worked very efficiently, you know?”

Emmanuel grabs him by his tie, hence ruining what he just had fixed, groaning, “Shut up” before he kisses him hard.

“It was a pleasure meeting you this evening,” Emmanuel then says, perhaps a little too loud to make certain his voice is heard outside. “I hope we can continue this fruitful discussion somewhat later for it is a chance to look to the future with optimism; with hope.” (c)

Emmanuel shoots Justin a glance as if to say _‘See? I am capable of that.’_

“You are quoting me yet again,” Justin replies with his disarming smile, fixing his tie himself. “The pleasure was all mine, Emmanuel.”

Then, letting his fingers run through his hair once again Justin opens the door, still sporting his smile. “My apologies, gentlemen, for ignoring your first call,” he says, nodding. “But sometimes, disagreements have to be settled before turning towards something else.”

* * *

The pile of crumpled paper sheets grows in the corner of Emmanuel’s hotel room, to an extent that he’s cursing the lack of a fireplace to burn it. He turns away from the desk where he’s been preparing for the Chairman’s interview, which he’s going to give the next morning.

It’s no big speech this time, but regardless, he wishes to be prepared as best as possible – at least for the questions, he’s almost certain he’ll receive – about Europe, which actually he enjoys talking about best.

Shaking his head, he walks towards the window and lets his gaze sweep over the illuminated city, which is so very European. He tries again to collect his thoughts but not even thinking about the speech he gave in Athens, on the Pnyx, where in ancient Greece the assembly of the citizens raised their hands to vote fills him with inspiration nor does it calm his nerves.

With a groan, he walks back to his desk, sitting down in the leather chair. He’s thinking of Justin again, thinking of earlier today; of last year, the year before – even dares to think of the future which is altogether naïve, with Justin’s voice echoing in his head.

“Fuck,” he breathes, pausing in his typing. The right words simply won’t come to him tonight. He’s slamming his laptop shut, leaning back and crossing his legs in a single motion. “Damn it.”

World history is a court of judgment (d), in every imaginable way – with prying eyes everywhere, and opportunities are all too willingly taken.

He’d do well to never forget this.

There’s no excuse for how they had looked like exiting the room; how they had behaved inside in what had come to pass in a rash, impulsive mood. He wasn’t like this, usually; but then – what’s usually about their relationship? Justin’s presence always brings forth a certain recklessness, one he would admonish as childish for everyone else.

He crumples the last piece of paper in his fist and flings it on top of all the others. Suddenly, the vast space of his suite feels too small, too constricting to let his thoughts roam freely, just like the collar of his shirt whenever he can’t tear his gaze away from Justin when it’s entirely not appropriate.

He picks up his woolen coat from the wardrobe, the same midnight-blue as his suit, and wraps the scarf around his neck for it’s still winter in Southern Germany. Upon exiting the door of his room he receives incredulous stares of his security. Well, the hour is late, long past midnight, the corridors long dark and deserted, so their surprise to see him dressed in a coat and scarf is legit.

He shuts the door behind him and nods to his security staff, who fall into step with him as soon as he strides towards the elevator, the red carpet muffling the sounds of his steps. Just as he needs Justin, right now he needs the crisp winter air of February to breathe, to calm down. Going outside is entirely out of the question, which leaves the rooftop terrace of the hotel as the only valid option. Not that he’d complain – it offers one of the best views of the city, especially at night.

Once outside, cold wind slaps into his face, just as he had wished it would as he walks towards the terrace’s edge, his security staying behind.

* * *

For a while, Emmanuel simply stands at the balustrade, gazing out into the night. It’s eerily silent and snow sails down on him, settles in his hair, catches itself in his eyelashes, and melts on his cheeks.

Startled from his thoughts by the sudden noise, he turns around.

“You look tired…” The wind carries Justin’s voice away but Emmanuel can still make out what he’s saying and shudders from it.

Justin takes a few steps towards Emmanuel, which makes him smile in return for a split second before he turns around again. The view of the illuminated Munich’s Frauenkirche covered in snow, is magnificent; with Justin coming to stand next to him all the more.

 _So do you._ Emmanuel doesn’t say it. They are all tired – exhausted, one way or another.

“I am,” he states instead, letting his fingers brush against Justin’s hand in silent acknowledgment the moment their shoulders are touching, the gesture subtle enough to be considered entirely accidental. “I’m glad that you have come.”

It’s the neutral form of saying _‘I missed you’_ for there’s their security in earshot. Over the course of time they’ve developed a language both of them understand perfectly well – but no-one else will catch the true meaning of.

In another world, Emmanuel could just wrap his arms around him from behind, burying his head in his scarf just as he had dreamt of so much. Instead of Justin’s arms, melancholy wraps its wings around his body and a lump begins to form in his throat. There’s so much he wants to say; with words, and hands, and lips, right here, in the dead of the night.

But then, in the end, words signify nothing, Emmanuel thinks, watching a snowflake settle right on Justin’s nose.

**Author's Note:**

> I used quotes from the actual speech given at this event for the title and throughout the story. The full text is here:  
> [Remarks at Munich](https://pm.gc.ca/en/news/speeches/2020/02/14/prime-ministers-remarks-munich-security-conference)
> 
> (a) _"And with France and 33 other countries, we’re supporting the Declaration on Information and Democracy, which commits countries to protect freedom of opinion and expression around the world."_  
>  (b) _"Some aspects of the international architecture reflect old ideas and old power structures. Institutions that should play complementary roles instead overlap or operate alone in silos."_  
>  (c) _"And for people around the globe, January is usually a chance to start fresh. To look to the future with optimism. With hope."_
> 
> Actually, there are videos from J's speech and E's interview the next day on the official MSC homepage (they are translated though): [MSC2020](https://securityconference.org/en/msc-2020)
> 
> (d) quote by Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel
> 
> And that's basically the view, without the tables and chairs - and at night in winter: [Rooftop Terrace](https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/proxy/YcKtf5avkOvGP8X-oQtw0r78VtcUjPqD7-asWeYPv1n81IF3XR2-2iRyceGMCmE48lHZma4W_KXbbJD1OW4q1e74zfZzcIojTznVwK0h9cSzo0AbFCaEPPIJp3X4GjLPINnNst8xen0n4g)


End file.
